Morning Mournings
by Autumn Win-Dow
Summary: For Hotaru, every morning felt too good to be true. Hotaru-centric.


Dedications: I'm keeping this short and simple. To AoGA, especially _buttercupbella, Black Maya_ and _Annabelle Rae _for being so supportive of me and my fics. I couldn't have improved without their immense support, especially for my recent fics. :)

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_**Morning, Mourning**_

**By Autumn Win-Dow**

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Morning was, for most people, the time of awakening – when the sun would rise from the East, thus starting a new day with new opportunities and new memories.

But for Hotaru Imai, it was the time of day which she dreaded the most.

**Every morning**, she would wake up from her king sized bed to see him sleeping beside her, without a care in the world. His auburn brown hair was ruffled – light strands covering his closed eyelids – and sometimes, to her secret pleasure, had his broad arm draped around her. Despite how coldly she treated her husband in real life – with no intent of real harm, of course – she would smile at the fact that someone as sincere and honest as Kokoro Yome had fallen in love with her, the one who usually pushed people away.

**Every morning**, she would silently watch him until he finally woke up from his deep slumber, and as his eyelids eased open to meet Hotaru's curious gaze, he would send her a sleepy smile.

"_Morning, Hotaru. I love that your eyes are the first thing I see every day."_

"_That was terrible. Just give up."_

His terribly thought out pick-up lines never seemed to cease, either.

He was a psychologist, and she was a product designer – not exactly the ideal couple for a romantic comedy, but in a way it worked out for them.

**Every morning, **he would surprise her with a sudden kiss – interrupting her relentless insults in regards to his manners in the morning – before patting her head as he got out of bed at seven o' clock, on the dot. While Koko would get dressed, Hotaru would pick up her phone – sitting on her oak bed side table – and check her e-mails from work.

**Every morning**, he would complain about how dedicated she was to her work as he buttoned up his cotton shirt and slipped on his dark trouser pants in preparation for another day at the clinic. She would retort that _he _was the one who was getting ready for work first, but eventually, she would be silenced when Koko would note that she was _already _doing her work.

She hated it when she lost the argument.

**Every morning, **she would stay in bed as Koko picked up his briefcase and, after kissing her on the forehead, left the house for another day at work – with high expectations for his luck, as usual.

**Every morning, **she was blissful.

"_Don't get yourself killed out there."_

"_I won't."_

Hotaru had always hated the crushing power of irony. Because of what happened every night.

Night was, for most people, the time of slumber - when the sun would set in the West, thus ending a new day with new experiences and memories to be embedded in minds for varying periods of time.

But for Hotaru Imai, it was the time when she would scoff at how pathetic she was.

**Every night**, she would come home to an empty house. Hotaru sighed because of the discarding of his pyjamas on the floor next to the bed, but she ignored it – knowing that the maid would take the clothes and put them in the wash.

The maid never came.

**Every night**, she would eat alone. Only Koko could make her lose her appetite – the tasty, seasoned crab in front of her was left untouched. The jug of sparkling water remained full. The plates in the sink were unwashed. The heat from the microwave faded quickly.

**Every night**, she would complete the rest of her work in a silent house. The only sounds in the once warm home were made by herself, and herself only – the water of the shower, the beeping of the microwave, and the sound of the printer – they were all made due to her own actions.

**Every night**, Hotaru would lie in the king-sized bed alone. The bed cover on Koko's side of the bed was cold, without a trace of life. She would place her fingertips on her forehead – where he kissed her – and would long for another once. Hotaru felt empty, like his side of the bed, and gently laid her small hand on the cold bed sheet.

**Every night**, she felt completely distraught.

Because in fact, after leaving the house _that morning_, he never returned.

**Every day**, it was a routine for Hotaru – the happy mornings, and the sad nights.

For Hotaru, every morning felt too good to be true.

All it took was the repetitiveness of the situation for Hotaru to realise that the blissful mornings she had been experiencing – all three hundred and fifty-five of them – were in fact, too good to be true.

Ever since that day, she continued to witness the same events every morning – she gave in to the illusion. She felt like she was disillusioned – and in a way, she felt like her morning routine was her way to mourn his death, rather than her repetitive nights.

_"Don't get yourself killed out there."_

Despite saying this so nonchalantly in the mornings, she dreaded the irony of her words in the nights.

Even though the next day was the first year anniversary of Kokoro Yome's death, Hotaru knew that it was going to be the same routine – nothing different from the other days.

During the three hundred and sixty-fifth morning, she would wake up to his sleeping face once again. She would give in to this brief moment of happiness in her life – not giving a concern about how it was simply an illusion – and even a year after his death, she would feel loved.

Because for Hotaru, it was the time of day which she dreaded most, but expected the most from.

It seemed that the mornings were even more haunting for Hotaru Imai than the nights.

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**_A/N: I've got a throat infection. But somehow, that boosted my morale to write. Thus, this one-shot was written. ^^ _**

**_I hoped she enjoyed it! :D_**


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